


Be My Mirror, My Sword, My Shield (The Girl All the Bad Guys Want Remix)

by lls_mutant



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lls_mutant/pseuds/lls_mutant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things Tom Zarek learned about Laura Roslin</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be My Mirror, My Sword, My Shield (The Girl All the Bad Guys Want Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voodoochild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/gifts).
  * Inspired by [atlanta never looked the same](https://archiveofourown.org/works/68404) by [voodoochild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild). 



> Thanks to my beta millari!

**It's probably not a good idea to bet against someone as unpredictable as her.**

"Zarek- you hear about it?"

"Hear about what?" Tom asks contemptuously, leaning back against the cold metal bars of his cell. Although he won't admit it, his head is still reeling from all that has happened- the _holocaust_. Frak, _everyone's_ head is still reeling, even here, where they're the lowest of the low, the men who aren't supposed to care about life.

"We've lost. We've lost and we're running," Mason says. "That's what the wireless says."

"Running to where?" Tom asks, because if what the guards have let them hear is true, there is nothing left. There is no Sagittaron, there is no Gemenon, there is no Caprica or Scorpia or Libran. There is _nothing_, except this Fleet of- what is it? Sixty ships? Seventy? Something like that. Rumor has it that humanity now numbers around fifty thousand. "There's no place left to run," Tom points out.

"Got me," Mason says, shrugging, and Tom can tell he can't believe all this. Not really. And not that he can blame him- it's just too much, and they're all still in their cells on this prison ship. It could all be a hoax for all they know. "But did you hear about the President?"

"Adar?" Tom nearly spits the name.

Mason laughs. "Not that frak," he says. "Roslin."

"Roslin." The name only vaguely rings a distant bell in his head.

"Yeah." It's not often that Mason gets to report something to Tom Zarek, who usually has a stranglehold on the information in their cut-off, forgotten world, and he's relishing every moment of this. "Some broad. She's… Hey! Wilkins! This new cunt, the President. What was her job again?"

"Secretary of Education, Mason," Wilkins shouts back.

"That's what Wilkins said," Mason says, and then leers. "Says she's real desperate for a man to come and put her right, if you know what I mean."

Tom smiles automatically. He doesn't really think the joke is funny, but that's the way to deal with Mason. Besides, his mind is working. A Secretary of Education, and she's either a short-haired ball breaker or a mousy little frump. Tom never paid that much attention to educational policy when he read the papers they were given, but if he closes his eyes he can almost conjure a blurry form, and he's pretty sure that Roslin is the second. A mousy little frump, which means that all Tom has to do is scare the shit out of her, dance circles around her with rhetoric about the Articles and the laws of Sagittaron, and they'll be able to do something… get out of these cells and live like men again.

Two hours later, a newspaper passes through his bars. It's from two weeks ago, and there's Laura Roslin on the page. He's got a face to put with the name: a bad haircut, an unflattering dress, and a posture that isn't meek, but isn't aggressive, either. He bets she's calm and reasonable and somewhat sentimental, and she keeps all the handprints of the kindergarten students she once taught. He reads the article and sees that she's a negotiator, not a fighter, and he's pretty sure she doesn't have what it takes. It shouldn't be hard to find a way to improve their situation.

He's deep within his plans when he notices what's going on. They're jumping, and the whispers are starting already.

_Ten ships. We left ten ships behind._

_Their FTL drives giving them problems._

_We already left how many?_

It doesn't surprise him to hear that outrage, like it would surprise anyone else. These are only men, after all, no matter what they've done. What _does_ surprise him is that Roslin is leaving ships behind. He's already reevaluating his assessment of her. Maybe she is a ball-breaker after all.

Tom smiles, ready for a good fight.

 

**She is, both figuratively and literally, a magnificent dancer**

 

He's had his victories against Laura Roslin, but today was most definitely not one of them. Tom stands in the throng in the bar, watching as Gaius Baltar emerges from the shadows, waving as the Vice President. He's smiling, Laura's smiling, and it's everything that Tom can do to clap and smile and not roll his eyes. He's positive that he saw Gaius Baltar asleep at the last Quorum meeting. He knows the game Laura's playing, and she's playing it damn well.

But so is he.

Bagot's nomination was sincere, and so were the votes for his vice-presidency. He knows she doesn't think so; she firmly believes he's after power. Tom thinks that she should take a good look in the mirror. The thing about wanting to change the world and do what's best for the people is that you need to have power to do it. Laura Roslin should have figured that out by now.

He approaches her after the speeches, and he sees the hate in her eyes, even as she smiles. He smiles back. "Madame President."

"Mister Zarek," Laura's voice is cold. "Oh, don't worry, I won't be kissing you today."

He laughs. "That's a shame. I shaved very closely in anticipation of being smacked by you. That was very nicely played. Again. But there's still a Presidential election in six months. I'll see you then."

"I have no doubt," Laura answers. She really is a rather attractive woman. And she's got guts; no matter what else he thinks, Tom concedes that one.

He glances across the room, where Ellen Tigh is talking with her husband and a few of the other military types, looking bored out of her mind. She catches his glance and raises her glass to him in a small, subtle gesture. He smirks and turns back to Laura.

"Oh, one thing you should know," he says, his voice deliberately flip. "I didn't kill Valance. I wonder who did."

Laura looks angry, and he laughs again and slips away before she can respond. Let her stew on that and let her wonder. He's telling the truth; he didn't kill Valance. But he knows who did, and he's made his thanks.

He drifts away, caught by Bagot, and watches as Roslin exchanges pleasantries withAdama. There's another joke, right there, and another one Tom grudgingly admits that he underestimated in his first impression. Adama's got more steel than Tom ever gave him credit for, but he's also got his weaknesses. Unfortunately, he's got to be one of the most bullheaded people Tom's ever met. And as Adama glares over at him, Tom's sure he's just as convinced as Roslin that he arranged to have Valance killed.

Just because he wouldn't have cried his eyes out if he was Vice President and Laura was assassinated doesn't mean he'd actually _kill_ her, for the gods' sakes. Because really, how quickly would they accuse _him_ of it? And Tom's always been a lot smarter than that.

He turns his attention back to the conversation more fully. The music is playing and people are dancing, and to be honest, a part of Tom just wants to relax. It's been over twenty years since he's had the pleasure of dancing with a pretty girl, or even just being at a party, and with all the death and tragedy they've all suffered, this is a rarity that's going to get even rarer.

Then he sees the Commander extend his hand to Laura, and they take to the floor together. Laura moves gracefully, making Adama look like a good dancer. They look good together, and Tom suddenly feels very, very tired.

He's lost this battle for the Vice Presidency. But as he watches Roslin and Adama dance, he's positive the war will continue on.

 

**She will let a man win, but next time, he might not be so lucky.**

 

The Commander has locked up the President.

Tom had wanted to sing, he wanted to dance, he wanted to cheer. Not because the President was locked up, but because now it is undeniable. The military and the civilian government must serve as a balance to each other, and these days it's been the civilians crawling on their bellies to the military. No one seems to understand how precariously close they're coming to a monarchy. Sure, there's Tigh's buffoonish stint at martial law, but everyone is blaming that on _Tigh_, and convincing themselves that Adama's not the same. As far as Tom is concerned, the only difference between William Adama and Saul Tigh is that Saul Tigh's got the guts to say what he's thinking to everyone's face.

But now Laura stands here in the icy cold of the meat locker, rubbing her fingers together. There are goosebumps on her flesh and steel in her eyes, and Tom's glad they're on the same side for this one. Lee Adama, weak daddy's boy that he is, is trying to record his message denouncing his father. But Adama, like his father, doesn't have the stomach for honesty. He's hemming and hawing, and Tom's trying to conceal his impatience.

Finally, Lee throws it down. "I can't do this," he says. "I'm sorry, everyone. I thought I could, but I can't."

Laura closes her eyes, and Tom looks away. Frak.

He's trying to figure out what would work even _better_\- he'll show little Mr. By-the-Rulebook how things really got done- when Laura opens her eyes. "I'm playing the religious card. I know exactly what I have to do." She strides over to the recorder and fumbles with it. "How does this thing work?"

Tom swoops in, adjusting it like a gallant gentleman. He makes it look as easy as he can, as gracious as possible. She just gives him a flat glare, and if the situation wasn't so serious, he'd laugh. She does have a habit of seeing right through him.

But his amusement fades as she begins to speak, and his admiration skyrockets. Oh, Tom thinks that Earth is all a bunch of bullshit that Adama pulled out of his own ass- religion _is_ the opiate of the masses, after all- but Roslin clearly believes.

"It seems I have been chosen to help lead you to the promise land of Earth. I will not question this choice I'll simply try to play my part in the plan. Therefore, at the appointed hour, I will give the signal to the fleet. All those wishing to honor the gods and walk the paths of destiny will follow me back to Kobol it is there we will meet the gods' servant with the arrow of Apollo." She continues on in the same vein for a short bit, and when she's done, there's silence. Tom finally breaks it. "And I thought I was good at speechmaking."

For the first time, Laura's grin is actually friendly. It's short, mind, but it's friendly, and she sees his humor. "You are," she admits grudgingly. "That's what makes you so dangerous."

He laughs, and leads her to the Raptor. "We'll go back to the _Astral Queen_ to broadcast," he tells her. "It's more defensible, and we only have to hold them off until we jump."

Laura nods. There's no thanks, no gratitude, but Tom wasn't really expecting it. She doesn't need to give it, really. This is all playing out better than he could have hoped.

In the next few hours, the ships declare themselves, and some of Tom's glee begins to fade. Twenty-four ships. And Tom sure as hell knows that Laura's not bluffing, that she _will_ jump away. And he realizes that when Bill Adama locked her up, she let him for the same exact reason Tom was glad for it- it made her look like a martyr. Laura Roslin was playing the hand she'd been dealt ruthlessly, and Adama is going to _lose_. And what's more, Tom is almost positive that she'll make him like it.

Damn. Tom makes a note of this occasion, because he knows that he'll always need to remember that Laura Roslin can make a man think he's winning, and the pull the rug out from under his feet.

 

**If Bill Adama could pull his head out of his ass, he'd be married.**

 

Even the sunshine is cold, but it's warm enough that Tom can go out in a jacket and not shiver. He moves through the Founder's Day festivities, shaking hands and gripping elbows, laughing. This is a new world and he finally has a voice. More than a voice, and the freedom and the excitement of that course through him.

Everywhere he looks, there are laughing faces. There's music, of course- music is something even the Cylons couldn't stop. There's dancing and drinking and there's even food. The air is heavy with the smell of roasting meat and baking bread, and best of all, they've found some sort of fruit. It's a little too tart and a little too crunchy for a lot of people, but to Tom, who hasn't had fresh fruit in over twenty years, it's pure heaven. There are speeches and ceremonies, and he addresses a crowd of glowing faces, telling them about the society he envisions and the plans he hopes to bring to fruition.

He sees four years into the future, and he likes what he sees. He envisions a city, with farms and greenhouses on the outskirts. A hydroelectric plant for power, the water treatment facility, and several apartment complexes. Houses, of course, and maybe even some shops. Transportation will have to be largely on foot to start, of course, because manufacturing cars will take a long, long time. But New Caprica will grow.

He doesn't think Gaius Baltar will run again in four years. Gaius is already losing interest, and Tom knows that they only have a downward spiral ahead. But he doesn't mind, because that means in four years, he'll be poised for the Presidency. He pictures a life where he's free to build the society of his dreams, where they can ensure freedom for all and a government that _works_.

It's funny that he can see all that so clearly, and yet he can't see where he'll live, or what his own life will be like.

He hears laughter. It's feminine and throaty, and he turns to see Laura. She looks frankly amazing in a red dress, and Tom can't tear his eyes from her. She doesn't notice. She's standing with Bill Adama, and they're both drinking and passing a cigarette between them. Her eyes don't leave his face, and she sure as hell doesn't notice Tom standing there, ten feet away.

He can't tell if Bill notices Laura's expression, but it doesn't matter. Laura isn't going to have eyes for anyone else today. In fact, Tom's pretty sure this what the sentimental mean when they say a woman is glowing. His gaze lingers on her smile, then travel down her neck, her breasts, her waist, her hips, and back up again. She's an incredibly beautiful woman.

For all the good it will do him. Tom is _nothing_ like Bill Adama.

He shrugs, and turns away. Bill, the bastard, has no idea of the hell he's in for.

 

**Laura Roslin is just like him, and he loves her for it.**

Laura knows that there is truth even in the most blatant of lies. She knows that morality and rules are concepts that a leader must set aside when it comes to the well-being of their people. She breaks through barriers and builds new ones. She tortures and kills and considers assassination a preferable alternative to justice. She's kidnapped, she's tried to steal democracy, and she's told herself it's all in the name of the people. And although Tom scorned her actions, his admiration for her willingness to do what must be done in the name of what she felt right grew.

Tom knew that he wanted her. He'd be a fool to think otherwise. He thought that was all it was, an appreciation and a lust, and he thought that he'd moved on from it. The gods know how much he's hated her these past few months, especially since the promised wasteland called Earth. Especially since she gave them all over to the Cylons.

She's in love with Bill Adama. He knows that now, and he had told himself he didn't care. He lied then, but now he truly _doesn't_ care. He's known that this end has been overlong in coming, and to be honest, he's ready for it. Death waits for him with open arms, and he's willing to embrace it back. To rest. To be at peace.

Because he tried to take control from her, and Laura Roslin has to kill him for it. He knows it. He'd do the same to her. Frak- he _should_ have done the same to her, and he knows he would have if he'd gotten his hands on her. Of course, he would have managed to be in the room.

The Marines raise their guns, and Tom makes his peace. He's okay with this, and he will die with dignity. As the Admiral Laura loves calls out the orders for his execution, he lifts his chins and faces the guns.

The last thing his eyes see is the firing squad. The last thing his soul sees is her smile.


End file.
